It Never Ends For Prescotts
Harold Bramwell sat in his study at the Bramwell Estate, looking tired but determined. Camilla stood in front of his large oak desk, arms crossed, her expression already defensive.
"Camilla," Harold said calmly, "I've been thinking. It's time you joined the company. You're intelligent, you have the education, and the family business needs fresh hands. I want you to start next week: marketing or operations, whichever suits you better. We'll find a proper position for you."
Camilla let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
"You want me to work?" she snapped. "After everything? You gave more than half of your property to Emery, your precious niece who stole my wedding, my future, and now my inheritance, and now you want me to go work like some common employee?"
Harold's face remained steady, though disappointment flickered in his eyes. "This isn't about punishment, Camilla. It's about responsibility. You're my daughter. You need purpose. Sitting around doing nothing isn't helping you."
Camilla's voice rose, sharp and venomous. "Purpose? You gave half your empire to that orphan replacement and now you're telling me to get a job? Ask Emery to work! She's the one living in luxury in the Prescott house while pretending to be the perfect wife!"
Harold exhaled slowly, his tone firm but weary. "She's pregnant, Camilla. She cannot work in an office right now, otherwise I would never have asked you. This has nothing to do with favoring her. You are my daughter. I want you to build something for yourself."
Camilla's face twisted with pure rage. She slammed her hands on the desk, leaning forward.
"Pregnant?!" she hissed. "So because she spread her legs and got knocked up, she gets everything handed to her on a silver platter? While I get told to go work like a servant? You chose her over me again! You always choose her!"
Harold's voice hardened. "That's enough. I'm not choosing anyone. I'm trying to help you stand on your own feet. But if you continue acting like this, entitled, bitter, and cruel, then you will lose even more than you already have."
Camilla straightened up, breathing heavily, eyes blazing with hatred.
"You want me to work?" she spat. "Fine. But mark my words, Father. I will never forgive you for this. And I will never forgive her. One day, Emery will lose everything she stole from me including that baby she's carrying."
She turned on her heel and stormed out of the study, slamming the door so hard the paintings on the wall rattled.
Harold sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead, looking older and more exhausted than ever.
The rift between father and daughter had grown even wider.
And Camilla's hatred for Emery had just burned hotter than before.
×××××××
The home office was quiet, filled with the soft clicking of Emery's keyboard. At twenty-four weeks, her bump rested comfortably against the edge of the sleek black desk. She was focused, reviewing a set of quarterly projections, her hair tied back loosely.
The door opened without a knock.
Harper stepped inside, arms crossed, a cruel smirk already playing on her lips.
"Well, well," Harper drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Look at you. Playing businesswoman while you're knocked up. How adorable. Does it make you feel important, sitting here pretending you belong in this world?"
Emery didn't flinch. She finished typing a sentence, then slowly looked up, her eyes calm but sharp.
"Harper," she said evenly. "If you're here to insult me, you can leave. I have work to do."
Harper laughed bitterly and stepped further into the room. "Work? Please. You're only here because my brothers feel sorry for you. The poor little replacement who got herself pregnant. Do you even understand what you're looking at, or are you just clicking buttons to feel useful?"
Emery leaned back slightly in her chair, one hand resting protectively on her bump. Her voice remained steady, but there was steel beneath it.
"I understand more than you think. These are the Q2 projections for the waterfront development.
Revenue is up 18% from last year, and the sustainability angle is bringing in new investors.
Something you would know if you ever bothered to learn about the family business instead of spending your time gossiping and neglecting your own daughter. "
Harper's smirk faltered. "Excuse me?"
Emery continued, her tone polite but cutting.
"You come in here every day looking for someone to hurt because your own life is falling apart.
Your husband is fighting for custody of Kitty because you can't even watch her for five minutes without putting her in danger.
You slapped your mother-in-law. You've been cruel to me since the day I arrived, and for what?
Because I exist? Because I'm carrying a child you wish wasn't here? "
She stood up slowly, placing both hands on her bump, her voice gaining quiet strength.
"I didn't ask to be here, Harper. But I'm here now.
And unlike you, I'm trying to contribute something positive instead of tearing everything down.
So if you want to keep throwing insults at me, go ahead.
But know this: every time you open your mouth to hurt me, you're only showing everyone how small and miserable you really are. "
Harper's face flushed deep red with rage. Her hands trembled at her sides.
"You think you're so clever now?" she hissed. "You're nothing but a gold-digging whore who got lucky. One day, everyone will see you for what you really are. And when that day comes, I'll be there laughing while you lose everything."
Emery met her gaze without blinking. "Maybe. But until then, I suggest you focus on fixing your own mess with Percy and Kitty. Because right now, the only person who looks pathetic is you."
Harper stared at her for a long, furious moment, breathing hard.
"You're going to regret this," she snarled, voice shaking with venom. "Mark my words, Emery. You will regret every single word you just said to me."
With that, Harper turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.
Emery stood still for a few seconds, heart pounding, then slowly sat back down. She placed both hands on her bump and took a deep, steadying breath.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, little one," she whispered. "But Mommy's not going to let anyone talk to us like that anymore."
She returned to her work, chin lifted, a quiet fire burning in her stormy eyes.
She was done being anyone's doormat.
×××××××
The phone rang sharply on Jesse's desk at the Prescott Real Estate headquarters. He was in the middle of reviewing a contract when he saw his mother's name flash on the screen. Something in his gut tightened. Rebecca rarely called during work hours unless it was urgent.
"Mom?" he answered quickly.
Rebecca's voice came through broken and frantic, nothing like her usual composed tone.
"Jesse... it's your Grandpa. He had a stroke. A bad one. He collapsed in the living room. The ambulance is taking him to St. Mary's Hospital right now. You need to come immediately. I can't... I don't know what to do!"
Jesse shot up from his chair, heart slamming against his ribs. "What? When did this happen?"
"Just now. He was talking to me about the company and then... he just fell. His face... it looked wrong. Jesse, please. Come now. I'm following the ambulance. Alexander is already on his way."
"I'm leaving right now," Jesse said, already grabbing his jacket. "Call me the moment you hear anything from the doctors. I'll be there as fast as I can."
He hung up and rushed out of his office, ignoring the startled looks from his assistant. His mind was racing. Grandpa Prescott, the patriarch, the steady rock of the family, had always seemed untouchable. The thought of him lying helpless in an ambulance made Jesse's stomach twist.
As he sped through the city streets toward home, his phone buzzed again. It was a message from Rebecca:
"They're saying it's a severe ischemic stroke. Hurry."
Jesse's grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
By the time he reached the Prescott house, the driveway was chaotic. Rebecca was standing outside, pale and shaken, talking rapidly on the phone while waiting for him. Ivy's car was already there. Alexander's was pulling in behind Jesse.
Jesse jumped out and rushed to his mother.
"Mom, what's the latest?" he asked, voice tight.
Rebecca's eyes were red-rimmed. "They took him straight to the stroke unit. Harper's with him. They're doing scans now. The doctor said every minute counts. If they can't dissolve the clot quickly..." Her voice broke.
Jesse pulled her into a brief, firm hug. "He's strong. He's going to fight. We all need to be there."
Alexander joined them, still moving stiffly from his own injuries. "Any update?"
"Nothing yet," Jesse replied. "We should head to the hospital now."
Ivy came running out of the house, face pale. "Is it bad? Mom, tell me it's not bad."
Rebecca could only shake her head, tears finally spilling over.
The four of them climbed into Jesse's car. The drive to St. Mary's Hospital was silent except for Rebecca's quiet, broken prayers and the occasional sniffle from Ivy.
Jesse's hands were tight on the wheel, jaw clenched.
Grandpa Prescott had always been the one who held the family together, even when he stayed quiet during the chaos. The idea that he might not make it felt like the ground was shifting beneath them all.
As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Jesse whispered under his breath, almost like a prayer:
"Please hold on, Grandpa. We still need you."
×××××××